


Somber

by JohnConstantine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Warning: I totally cried while writing this so you might cry too.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnConstantine/pseuds/JohnConstantine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self Prompt - Castiel visits a makeshift grave for Meg, a sort of dedication to her by the Winchesters for being an ally who sacrificed herself for them and realizes how she really made him feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somber

Angels don’t cry.

Angels never cry. That’s the point of an angel, they’re warriors, breed for one purpose and one goal, to service their God and holy master. Angels don’t cry because they don’t have the capacity to cry, they don’t have feelings and they should be able to say goodbye without shedding a single tear.

Was that why he felt a dark pit inside him, why when he pushed it away time and time again he felt himself close away more and more until it became unbearable?

Then why was he so hurt and broken about it? Why did it feel like he was human again, like those horrible emotions had come back just to tear him apart?

He didn’t believe Sam at first. No, there was no way she was gone, just like that. There was no way that she was missing once again and this time for good. That she was…dead.

He was started by how his heart made him feel, by how his body reacted and how he felt a drop of wetness down his face. Sam went into detail, saying how she died to save them all, how she went out a warrior, and what the words she last said to him meant.

It was too much. And he had no idea how much worse it would get when Sam said they’d made a makeshift plot for her because she deserved it, because honestly after everything she’d done she deserved to be remembered. It was touching and even when Sam left him alone at the plot he had debated on turning around and asking the human to stay.

She was represented by just a piece of wood, apparently a cross wouldn’t be too fitting for her in the Letter’s graveyard  and with a heavy sigh Castiel sat down in front of it, ignoring the way dirt was now clinging to his clothes.

"I’ve never done this before, but I know with what you are…were, you wont hear me," he said softly, ignoring the cold wind that was starting to pick up. "Sometimes humans find solace talking to dead friends. I always thought it was a waste of time. the again I never really had friends.

"I miss you," he was surprised how easily that came out. "Even your smell, though you would try and cover it in the hospital I could always smell you. I thought it was nice, despite the sulfur.

"Sam told me, finally. I always thought there was a chance…that we could find you. You were a good fighter, I always wondered what it would be like to fight beside you instead of against you."

Castiel looked down at his hands. “I…don’t understand why this is affecting me. I’ve had warriors die under me, killed my own family but you…

"I miss you terribly, meg," he choked, leaning his head against the post, ignoring the fact that he’d been there hours already, just talking lowly and pretending he could hear her snarking back at him or calling him a child like she used to. He pretended he could smell her, pretended that just out of the corner of his eye he could see black smoke and head a whisper of "Hello, Clarence".

Soon it was too much, thinking back on those words she said, what Sam told him they meant and how significant those words meant to him.

"No one’s ever loved me and expected nothing from me in return," he muttered. "I never knew what that could feel like, something beyond attraction and something beyond sex and desire. But I see it now. And I understand."

With a sad smile he looked the crooked, warped stake of a two-by-four up and down, glancing at the carved letter and snorted. “You told me your real name once, back in the hospital. You just wanted someone to listen when you were bored and you would talk about yourself. I heard you, I listened, and you listened to me. Even my ;’bad’ poetry. You’d let me call you beautiful, even when you snapped at me and pretended to ignore me you still listened.

"I was right though, you were beautiful."

Even when rain started to fall he simply huddled to himself and let the drops fall on his face, makeshift tears for his sadness he couldn’t fully express and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back and letting it pour on him.

"It’s strange, that a demon could say what you did and mean it. At least I hope you meant it, or what I say next could probably be better left unsaid.

"I love you too."


End file.
